


Little Gestures

by sofia_gigante



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arguing, Community: inceptiversary, Crushes, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne’s overtired, and Arthur sticks his foot in it. Someone has to fix this mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Gestures

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Castillon02 for her amazing beta reading skills.
> 
> Posted as part of Inceptiversary 2015's fluff week.

Dawn light had just begun to touch the cobblestones in front of the warehouse when Ariadne let herself in. She stifled a yawn, though her exhaustion couldn’t dim her excitement. She couldn’t remember ever having been this enthusiastic to work on a project, not even the undergrad project that had sealed her admittance into the Ecole d’Architecture for her graduate work. It hadn’t been anywhere as imaginative, as thrilling…

And her cohorts hadn’t been nearly as interesting.

Her heart did a little flip as she saw the lean figure working at his laptop in the corner. Arthur’s face was intent, up until the moment he turned from his screen to give her a little smile.

“Good morning,” Ariadne said.

She felt suddenly self-conscious. She’d taken the precious extra time to put on a little make-up and a nice—but not too nice—outfit, but she always felt underdressed next to elegant Arthur. His dress shirt and vest were neat and pressed, his hair slicked back. Not a hint of exhaustion touched his angular face, and she knew he had to get up pretty early to make himself so damn presentable at six A.M.

“Good morning,” he replied. He nodded towards the 3-D model of the hotel she’d been working on the night before, half-finished on her lab table in the back. “Were you here late last night?”

“Not really,” she lied. She’d been there until two A.M. She took a long drink from the travel cup in her hand, draining it. “Is there more coffee, or should I run out to get some?”

“Of course there’s coffee,” Arthur mock-scoffed. He got up—careful to close his laptop—and walked over to the makeshift coffee bar they’d set up in the middle of the workshop. He didn’t need to guide her, she knew well where it was, but she appreciated the gesture for a different reason—it meant she got to follow him.

Which meant she got to enjoy the view those well-tailored slacks afforded the world.

Her cheeks heated. God, it was too early in the morning to be thinking like that.

Then why else was she here every day, before her morning class, when she knew it was just Arthur working away?

Or at least, it was usually just Arthur.

“Hey, what’s Eames doing here?” she asked.

“What’s it look like? Sleeping off last night.” This time the scoff in Arthur’s voice was genuine.

His eyes narrowed over the rim of his coffee cup as he took in Eames, sprawled out and lightly snoring on one of the lounge chairs in the dream-share area. He was wearing the same creased brown slacks as yesterday, his worn jacket draped over his chest and arms like a tiny blanket. He looked peaceful. Kind of sweet.

“Must’ve come in really late,” she murmured.

Arthur raised a shrewd eyebrow at her. “I thought you said you weren’t working late.”

Ariadne felt her face heat again, and she hid it by giving her travel cup her full attention as she doctored it with cream and sugar.

“I know how exciting this all is," Arthur said. "Believe me. While planning my first job, I barely slept unless I was put under. But you have to pace yourself. ”

His gentle tone didn’t hide his concern as well as he thought it did.  She didn’t know if she was more touched or annoyed.

“I’m fine.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

“Ariadne, we still have a few weeks to go, and we need you sharp right until the minute we leave for the flight. It’s important we stay honest with each other, let each other know if we need help.”

_Help?_ Did Arthur think she wasn’t up to this?

“Look, I’ve pulled off plenty of complicated projects on less sleep,” she said. She hated how defensive she sounded.

“This isn’t a project. This is a job.” Arthur became suddenly stern. “There’s a lot more riding on this than a grade.”

OK, now she was definitely annoyed. She turned to look at him. He didn’t look quite as cute anymore. His features had hardened, his lips tight. It reminded Ariadne of something very important: Arthur was a con man. An international criminal. Everyone she was working with was...and Ariadne had signed up to be one of them.

Her stomach churned, part embarassment, part anger, and she snapped the lid on her travel cup. She forced herself to meet Arthur’s eyes. “You think I don’t understand how important this is? That I’m just some wide-eyed school-girl that’s here for the thrill of danger?”

Arthur looked surprised. “I didn’t mean that.”

She stalked over to her work area and picked up the model of the hotel she’d been up all night designing. “Does this look like an undergrad project to you?”

“Ariadne...”

“Listen, I know I’m the new kid here, but it doesn’t mean I don’t understand the stakes. If we don’t pull this off, if we get caught...I lose, too.”

There it was, out in the open—the quiet fear that had plagued her since she’d accepted Cobb’s offer. If this job went belly up, then Ariadne wouldn’t have just lost her ticket out of crippling student debt, she would probably lose her freedom, too. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Straight from grad school to prison, her life over before it had begun.

The fear opened the door to her exhaustion, and suddenly, it seemed like a foolish idea to have come this early. “Look, I have to go.”

“Ariadne,” Arthur’s voice had taken on a slightly pleading tone, but she couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I’ll be back for the meeting at six,” she said flatly as she strode past him without looking.

She dodged Eames’ sleeping form and grabbed her bag off the chair beside him. He hadn’t even stirred through their whole exchange. Must’ve been one hell of an evening he’d had last night.  

She stormed out, back into the Paris morning, regret flooding her before she’d turned the first corner. God, she’d made such a fucking fool of herself in front of Arthur. He’d been trying to offer advice—help, he’d said—and she’d lashed out at him like a cornered cat. It was what happened when she was overtired and stressed…

And that was what made all this so much worse. He’d been right.

God, how was she going to face him this evening?

****

Ariadne arrived at the warehouse a little earlier than the scheduled meeting, hoping to catch Arthur alone to apologize.  No such luck. Yusuf and Cobb had already arrived, chatting quietly over the chemist’s table. Eames was poring over the dossiers and photographs of Browning, looking showered and changed. And there…there was Arthur, sitting behind his laptop in the corner.

He didn’t say anything, only his gaze lingered on her longer than she knew he meant for it to. She considered smiling at him, but it froze on her lips. She was still too embarrassed.

She put her bag down over by her workstation. To her surprise, there was a small, white cardboard box sitting on the table. It was tied with a thin, white and red cord, sealed with a gold sticker.

Her eyes scanned around the warehouse. Everyone else was engrossed in their work. Curious, she untied the ribbon and broke the seal.

Nestled inside the box was a perfect lemon meringue tart. It was a feat of culinary architecture, the white meringue whipped high and browned perfectly, topped with a single, jewel-bright raspberry.

Ariadne’s heart did a little flip. She’d mentioned to Arthur weeks ago—purely in passing—that she preferred lemon over chocolate. It had been one of those fill-the-quiet conversations that she and Arthur would get into during their early-morning work jams, where they’d compare favorite books, restaurants, and movies.

Arthur had remembered.

During the meeting, she picked the chair next to him. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at her with those coffee-dark eyes swimming with concern. She gave him what she hoped was an apologetic smile, and slid a hand down his arm. It was solid, warm, and the feel of compact muscles hidden under the ivory silk set her pulse racing. The little grin he gave her in return melted the last bit of embarrassment she felt.

Their first fight had ended with pastry.

Huh. “First fight.”

The thought opened up a world of possibilities.

****

It was nearly two A.M. when Arthur finally shut down the warehouse for the night. He’d been disappointed when Ariadne hadn’t stayed much later after the meeting, but he supposed he should be glad she was listening to his advice and getting some rest.

Things had gone so wrong so fast that morning.  He hadn’t meant to insult her, truly, but he’d obviously hit a hidden nerve. It was only when she’d looked up at him with those hazel eyes flashing with fire—aimed right at him—that he’d realized he’d stumbled into dangerous territory.

Thank God for that lemon tart.

As he locked the door, he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke behind him. Arthur’s spine stiffened.

“So, all’s well that ends well,” Eames said with a chuckle.

Arthur hadn’t seen the pastry box until Ariadne had been holding it. His heart had sunk into his shoes, and he’d realized too late what a perfect little gesture it was, especially when he’d seen just how much it had brightened her face.  Too bad he hadn’t thought of it. He’d fully expected someone else to saunter over, take the credit for the gift. But no one had.

Now he knew why.

“Thank you,” he said, grudgingly, without looking at him. Oh, but it hurt to have to thank Eames for pulling him out of this mess!  

“For what?” Eames gave him a completely deadpan look, though his eyes twinkled mischievously in the lamplight. “You’re the dashing romantic, remember?”

Eames must have overheard the argument while he’d been “asleep” in the workshop that morning. As to why he would help mend the damage…

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“I’m serious,” Arthur snapped, annoyance getting the better of him.

“Because we need you sharp right until the minute we leave for the flight,” Eames parroted Arthur’s earlier words to Ariadne, but without a hint of mockery or malice.

Arthur’s ears burned, but he forced himself to look at Eames. “I’m fine.”

Eames chuckled. “Didn’t you say it was important we stay honest with each other, let each other know if we need help? Well, you obviously needed help.”

“I don’t need your help.” Now all of Arthur’s face was on fire. “Not with...with this.”

“Not anymore, you don’t.” Eames gave him a triumphant grin. Then, with a little nod, he turned and began walking away down the street. “You’re welcome.”

Arthur pocketed the key, and turned to leave in kind. There was still one thought nagging him. “Hey.”

Eames stopped and turned his head.

“How did you know about the lemon?” Arthur asked.

“It’s my job to know people,” Eames said with a little shrug. He was thoughtful for a moment. “You really want to woo her, have an almond croissant waiting for her tomorrow morning. From Poilâne.”

“Your deductive skills tell you those are her favorite?”

“No, just who doesn’t like almond croissants?” Eames winked, then continued on his way.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. Why Eames would help him romance Ariadne was completely beyond him, but truly, if it worked…

No. He was not naming his and Ariadne’s first son _Eames_. No fucking way.

 


End file.
